I know that Karen touched many of you with her kindness, wit, creativity and encouragement. She was a loving daughter, sister, aunt and friend. And she was a pretty darned good programmer, too. We are deeply grieving her loss.

In 1995 - The Alfred P. Murray Feral Building, in Oklahoma City is nearly destroyed. (It took EXTRA feral demolition teams to finish the job as they got it wrong the first time.)

In 1993 - The might of the united States government sweeps in with the winds and ends their 51-day siege upon a Church, founded and run by it's citizens in Waco, Texas. Seventy-four (74) men, women and children died from gas, gunshot, and fire by feral agents acting in the name of "We the People." These feral agents received NO punishment for the crimes, as "We the People", though filled with righteous indignation, did nothing, even unto this day.

In 1775 - Feral agents of the government came to take our arms away and the "Shot heard round the World" was answered by many great men. One in particular needs mentioning, as I am sure if he had been alive in 1993, he would have done the same thing.

"There, before the eyes of his astonished family, Sam methodically loaded his musket and both of his famed dueling pistols, put his powder and ball inside his worn and well-traveled military knapsack, strapped his French saber around his waist, squared his grizzled jaw and, as he strode briskly out the door, simply informed his worried family that he was "going to fight the British regulars" and told them to remain safely indoors until he returned.

Whittemore walked to a secluded position behind a stone wall on Mystic Street, near the corner of what is now Chestnut Street in Arlington, and calmly settled in. Some of the Minutemen pleaded with Whittemore to join them in their safer positions, but he ignored their admonitions. Soon the 47th Regiment of Foot, followed by the main body of British troops, appeared in view. On both sides of Whittemore, Minutemen were shooting at the approaching Redcoats and then sprinting away to where they could reload in safety.

Waiting until the regiment was almost upon him, Whittemore stood up, aimed his musket carefully and fired, killing a British soldier. He then fired both dueling pistols, hitting both of his targets, killing one man outright and mortally wounding another. Not having time to reload his cumbersome weapons, he grabbed his French saber and flailed away at the cursing, enraged Redcoats who now surrounded him. Some of those infuriated soldiers were probably less than one quarter of Sam's 80 years; few, if any, were even half his age.

One Englishman fired his Brown Bess almost point-blank into Whittemore's face, the heavy bullet tearing half his cheek away and knocking him flat on his back. Undaunted, Whittemore attempted to rise and continue the fight, but received no less than 13 bayonet wounds from the vengeful Redcoats. They also mercilessly clubbed his bleeding head and drove their musket butts into his body as they ran by.

When the last Britisher had left the scene and was far enough away for them to come out in safety, the villagers who had seen Whittemore's last stand walked slowly toward the body. To their astonishment, he was still alive and conscious--and still full of fight! Ignoring his wounds, he was feebly trying to load his musket for a parting shot at the retreating regiment.

A door was used as a makeshift stretcher and Whittemore was carried to the nearby Cooper Tavern. Doctor Nathaniel Tufts of Medford stripped away Sam's torn, bloody clothing and was aghast at his many gaping bayonet wounds, the other numerous bruises and lacerations, and his horrible facial injury. According to every medical text Tufts had ever studied and all of his years of experience treating injured people, the old man should have bled to death from internal injuries."

That old glorious bastard did not die though, he lived another eighteen (18) years and when asked if he ever regretted his actions, Sam replied: